#welcome to the start of my star wars steddie miniseries that follows @designatedgrape 's april aus

[badpancakelol]

“Have a nice day!”

Eddie doesn’t hope he has a nice day. The guy was a dick and tried to short him on credits, despite being so obviously well off. Like, c’mon, man. Not even trying to hide the Nabooian silk robes? Or the Coruscanti accent? Offhandedly mentioning that his girlfriend was a senator? Just because he works in the middle of a shit ship-port on Tatooine doesn’t mean he’s thick. He wipes the grease off his hands onto the already-dirty rag, but there’s no use in using precious water on a midday clean. Instead, Eddie dabs the sweat from his brow, and contemplates buzzing his hair short again.

Nabooian. Silk. Thousand threaded, cool-to-the-touch, Eddie’s-favourite-colour, Nabooian silk. The guy had to be taunting him. Had to be. In this heat? In Eddie’s port? With his favourite colour?

(Does it matter that it wasn’t his favourite colour until a certain someone had shown him in-colour holos of the fields? No. No it does not).

And then he had some wannabe bounty hunter from his block try and threaten him to fix his ship, which? Hello? Does Mr Blonde Mullet really think that threatening Eddie is gonna make him want to fix his shit faster? I’ll break your hand if you so much as put a scratch on her. It’s not like he can even do anything to hurt Eddie. A broken hand slows down the work, as does a fractured leg, or a black eye, or a concussion, or a blaster burn, or a vibro-wound, or a—

Ah. You get the point. All bark and no bite, and, dank farrik did he have a stupid amount of bark. Enough bark to fill the entire four hours it took to fix his hunk of junk. 

So, really, you can’t blame him for the mood that he’s been in all day (or, you could try, but if your engine takes a little bit longer to retune, or your fuel is a little more expensive than normal, well. Have fun trying to trek your way into the shitshow of the other side of town), when he turns to find the stupidly shiny Naboo royal starship spluttering its way in. Because, seriously? What the hell has he done to the people of Naboo to deserve this?

Eddie thumps his head against the makeshift table, shouts before the ramp has even extended to let whoever-the-fuck out of the rich ship, “We’re closed!”

The sharp click of heeled boots grate on Eddie’s brain, and is only dulled when he watches the way they sink slightly into the ground through his curtain of hair. 

“I don’t need any work done.” Rich Naboo Man says, and— 

He knows that voice.

“I just need a place to park for a little while — I’m visiting a friend around here, actually.”

Eddie lifts his head, peeks up at the person in front of him. The person who is very much Naboo royalty, who is wearing those stupid bright red robes, and the stupid headpiece that he said was too heavy and impractical, with makeup that he said highlighted his broken nose too much, is shuffling out of the starship. His head is held high, and there’s a crease in his brow that’s been the same since they were stupid foundlings with Eddie reading out the aurebesh on the flimsi that their teachers handed them.

No. Fucking. Way. 

“Steve?” 

“Eddie?” His head moves so fast that the jewels dangling from the headpiece almost whip him in the face. And then Steve is shuffling forwards, back straight and face smoothed to a soothing smile, before he’s already apologising. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make it on time. There were duties that I had to attend to, and they ran longer than—”

He bolts from his seat, taking long strides in his ratty grey jumpsuit before he’s caught Steve around the middle twirling them around, because he’s waiting fifty-seven rotations for this. Fifty-seven. If Steve says one more damned apology Eddie is quite literally going to explode. The laugh that Steve lets out is so hearty and so full — warmer than both of Tattoooine’s suns — and, Force, if Eddie has to go another almost-two-months without seeing him, he is quite literally going to overthrow Naboo.

“Hey! It’s okay, Hop. You can put the blaster down.” Steve places his hands onto Eddie’s shoulders and— did he hear that right?

“King Harrington—”

“—Please, Hop, not while I’m off-duty—”

“Steve, the guy ran at you and hauled you up.”

Steve turns around, and Eddie feels like, then. His royal robes create a silhouette of patience and strength, and tower over Eddie, if you count in the headpiece. There is a part of Eddie that whispers how he should very much be letting go of Steve, because his guard still has his blaster aimed at the only bits of him that stick out from behind Steve’s ornate dress. But it’s been so long, and there’s a larger part of his soul that says that he never wants to let go.

“Hopper,” Steve says, and Eddie can just feel the commanding tone of voice bleed through his usual casualness. “This is who I was meeting.”

Eddie lifts his head over Steve’s shoulder, and ignores the small huff he gets in return for the grease he undoubtedly just smeared across Steve’s very expensive, thousand thread Nabooian silk robes. Maybe it’ll finally give him a reason to change out of them. Hopper lowers his blaster, shoves it into the holster with too much and too little force without-a-capital-F all at once. If Eddie was a lesser man he would have snorted. Or, if Eddie was a lesser man he would have let the guard hear his snort.

“This is the guy you’re courting?” “Force, you make us sound old.” Eddie sighs at the same time Steve full-heartedly responds “Yes.”

The guard — Hopper — just pinches his brow and adjusts the hat on his head. “Well, I can’t say anything for your taste in men, but at least he has a respectable job. And he gets paid.”

“Stevie’s still dealing with the Naboo’s Royal Pocket Money?”

“Don’t remind me.” Steve says, moving a swift motion so that he holds Eddie’s hand underneath one of the long red sleeves of his gown.

When Eddie turns to look at Steve, he’s already turned. There’s a mellowed out look on his face that Eddie reads as is your work finished? Let’s clean up and lie around and do nothing but be near each other. And who is Eddie to deny such a request?

“Well,” Eddie says, in all the hospitality that a man from Tatooine can muster, “We best not keep you any longer.”

Hop hums in the way that Wayne used to when he knew that Eddie was just trying to weasel his way out of things. Maybe it was just one of those sixth senses that fathers-who-aren’t-biologically-fathers gain when their children start dating. Or maybe Eddie’s just obvious.

“I can give you a rundown of your ship in the morning. I think you’ve dislodged something in your engine — I could hear it rattling before you even landed.”

Steve tugs on Eddie’s arm, lip quirked up at the corners, and crows feet showing through ornate red and white makeup. “Eds, there’s nothing wrong—”

“Stevie, I love you, but you’re terrible at lying.”